


Political Intrigue

by Sapphicmoonchild



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Ambassador Lafayette, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Genderfluid, Genderfluid Marquis de Lafayette, How do Politics Work, I'm Sorry, M/M, Transphobia, google translate french
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 09:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphicmoonchild/pseuds/Sapphicmoonchild
Summary: After being kicked out by his abusive father, Lafayette has no choice but to take a position as Ambassador to America. Once there he quickly befriends other staff - such as Alexander Hamilton, presidential aide, Hercules Mulligan, security guard, and John Laurens, activist and adviser. However, it is the President, George Washington, who truly intrigues Lafayette - but it is irresponsible to be so captivated by a national ally.This is my first fanfiction and, unfortunately, it shows. I am trash and all that.





	

He had always known he was destined for a political career. It was the legacy his family left for him: and with a name as pretentious as ‘ _Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert de la Fayette, Marquis de Lafayette,’_ one he felt forced to uphold.  He had unfailingly imagined that he would stay in his beloved France; he would live in the elegant Paris townhouse in which he was born, working his desired political position in the afternoons only. His mornings would be dedicated to eating croissants in quaint little cafes, listening to Edith Piaf and running through the winding Parisian streets, arm in arm with his childhood friend Adrienne. His nights would be spent perched on a windowsill, a hill-top, a roof, far away from the world and watching the twinkling lights of the city, the glimmering bacon of the Eiffel tower. He could almost taste it touch it, his dreams for the future were so tangible. He had imagined these dreams so much they felt more like memories, and when reflecting on his childhood, his recollections of his young life in the rolling countryside amongst the windmills and towering blades of grass were only as real and as vivid to him as his dreamed explorations of city alleys. That this dream would never be accomplished seemed almost incomprehensible to young Lafayette, yet it was thrown to the winds in a fateful summer visit.

 

Lafayette had just completed his degree at the _Ecole Normale d'Administration_ the previous month. It was September, and he was still twenty-five, a few days away from twenty-six.  He was young, bold, and naïve – he was staying at the longed-for town house, with his father visiting to celebrate his birthday.  He was drunk on freedom, on hope, cocky and foolish.

Sometimes, he liked to wear dresses and make-up and heels, clutch a purse to his chest and stare at the mirror, wondering if _he_ was really a _they._ Lafayette could stare for hours, mouthing the words until all the pronouns blurred together, _hetheyhetheyhetheyhetheyhetheyhetheyhethey._ It was a blissful wave of calm, a certain rightness.

That was, until his father walked in.

Lafayette wasn’t always a ‘ _they’_ , he discovered. Sometimes - _most_ times – he was a he. Uncaring for the distinction between masculinity and femininity perhaps, but male all the same. Sometimes though, on certain days, Lafayette was a _‘they’_. Not a ‘man’ or a ‘woman’, just simply Lafayette. He explained all of this to his father, who stood in horrified revulsion as Lafayette’s rambling turned to desperate pleading.

Lafayette had seen it coming, of course, but he sharp sting of his father’s hand on his cheek still pained him more than anything in this life. For a second, Lafayette feared another beating, but his father drew away as if touching his son burned him.

“Sortir de cette maison (get out of this house)!” His father, his dearest pere, finally spat out.

“Mais pere (but father) ...” Lafaytte sobbed.

“Sortir de cette maison, tu es fou (get out of this house, you freak)!” His father yelled.

Lafayette quickly gathered up a bag of essentials, still sobbing as he packed but making no further attempts to plead with his father. And that is how, at the tender age of twenty-six, Lafayette found himself homeless in the streets of the city he had once so ardently wished for.

It seems almost miraculous that these personal traumas coincided with a deeply unsettling and unprecedented event in international politics. The French ambassador to America, along with various other diplomats from all corners of the globe, were brutally killed in a mass shooting targeting the abetters of abortion. It seemed impossible that anything good may come of this catastrophic tragedy, yet for Lafayette it was a surprising opportunity.

Lafayette had interned with the Minister of Foreign Affairs personally even taking on a full-time aide position in the summer months. It was because of this fond connection the Minister proposed him as a potential candidate for the empty position. Lafayette was of course the last experienced of these candidates, yet in their cushy senior positions the others proved unwilling to risk themselves in such a ‘savage’ country. The President of the Republic therefore approved Lafayette; his good family name and social connections, his fluent English skills, prestigious Masters degree in risk management and prevention and the fact he was the only willing diplomat made him the most eligible potential ambassador.

And so, it was out of this tragedy that destroyed so many lives that Lafayette’s was saved; raised from the gutter his father threw him into, he was offered security, a place of residence, a great wage.

Yet as he sat on the plane to Washington, Lafayette still felt his stomach drop and his heart raise to choke his throat. He felt noting but sick as he watched his home country vanish, his forced optimism dying in front of his eyes. Every plan he had made for the future, every advantage allowed to him by a prominent family, had crumpled to dust around him. He felt near exiled, isolated from the only home, the only friends he had ever know. He had no family, alone on his way to a country he had never seen and a life he did not know.

Lafayette felt as lost and uncertain as his future was, and he felt the familiar icy claws of panic scrape at is chest.

_Calm down Lafayette._

_Un deux trois quatre cinq sex sept huit neuf._

_One two three four five six seven eight nine._

 

 

When he arrived at the airport, there were already three men already waiting for him.

The first seemed impossibly tall, a giant of a man with ebony skin and a wide grin. He dwarfed the second two, who were both already shorter than average, who were in a heated discussion together – all flushed cheeks and wide eyed stares.

“Mr Lafayette?” Smiled the tall one politely, breaking the other two out of their hazy bubble.

“Oui, oui, mon ami.” Lafayette replied anxiously, unconsciously pressing up to his top toes to kiss the larger man on both cheeks. On his way back down, Lafayette realised what he had done, and felt the dredges of panic re awaken at such a social faux pas so early on.

_Really, what kind of diplomat are you? You have spoken two sentences and already you could have caused major trouble for your country by disrespecting your closest ally and the leading nation of the free world. Merde, you are so stupid…._

“I’m Alexander Hamilton!” The shortest one, an adorable Latino man, interrupted his internal monologue, bouncing excitedly as he leant over to similarly greet Lafayette. “I’m President Washington’s personal aide, and as soon as you’ve had a chance to drop your bags off at the French residence and freshen up I will escort you to meet him. The one you just introduced yourself to is Hercules Mulligan, who is a security guard issued by the FBI, and this is John Laurens, he- “

“I’m here because I’m the only one in the office who has had the opportunity to memorise your full name.” The third man cut in smoothly, mischievously winking at Lafayette as he elbowed the shortest man - _Hamilton_ – playfully in the ribs.

Lafayette flushed embarrassed, and quickly spoke to try and re-assure the others: “Monsieur Lafayette is perfectly, how you say, _adequate_ , though I must thank you for your consideration Monsieur Laurens. _Merci_.”

“Oh, thank _God_.” Mulligan sighed in relief, his easy smile broadening further as he realised he wouldn’t have to learn the nine other names and title.

“Of course, _Monsieur Lafayette_.” Hamilton similarly grinned. “Let Mulligan get your bags, we must be heading off to meet the President as soon as possible. He’s going to _adore_ you.”

Lafayette’s flush darkened further in confusion at the last part, but the others ignore it as they lead him to a dark black car.

 

Lafayette spun around, peering at the inside of the _White House_ in utter amazement. He felt out of place, unworthy, even after a shower and a change into a fresh new suit. He pulled at his sleeves to hide his scares, physical markers of his inadequacy, lost in melancholy thoughts.

“He’s just through here, Monsieur Lafayette.” Called Hamilton, as he moved to open what were presumably the doors to the oval office.

Lafayette felt his hands shaking as the door swung open. It was painted white, like so much of the wonderful building, but his nerves twisted his ‘til he could only see a looming maw, ready to swallow him whole. As the door creaked fully open, shadows cast across the wood like a dark leer, a dizzying contrast to the angel that sat behind an elegant mahogany desk. _The President of the United States of America._

“Hello. You must be Mr Lafayette.” The President smiled warmly as he rose to greet Lafayette. He was the most stunningly attractive man Lafayette had ever seen – tall and well-muscled, with twinkling eyes and a friendly disposition.

 

“ Oui, je suis Lafayette. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer monsieur (Yes, I am Lafayette. It’s a pleasure to meet you sir).” Lafayette stammered out in French, distracted by his focus on _shaking the man’s hand_ and not _kissing him on the cheek_ to translate his greeting to English.

“He says it’s a pleasure to meet you sir.” Hamilton piped up helpfully from behind him, the ends of President Washington ‘s smile tugging up as if he were amused.

“It is a pleasure to meet you to, Mr Lafayette. I will be looking forward to working with you in the future.” The President replied diplomatically, ignoring Lafayette’s linguistic oversight.

_Why are you so stupid? You should know better than to speak **French** in **America.** You are so useless._


End file.
